When You Do It
by Michika
Summary: Drabble highlighting the carefully balanced relationship Vegeta has with his hosts.
1. Chapter 1

**Originally submitted to the Black & Blue LJ community under the prompt Pride. **

He pushed her into the wall, one hand on her hip to drive her back and one around her neck holding her in place. The threats spilt out of his lips, she'd pushed too far and now he was going to kill her. He stopped, frozen in time as they both started at each other, him in fury, and her with defiance. Her brain formed a plan of escape and relayed it to the body for action.

"Yes, you can kill me." She started softly acknowledging his power over her. She raised her left hand and placed it over his gloved one at her throat. Cautiously she wrapped her fingers around his and pulled it between them. His rage was to thick in his skull he'd was frozen in place, his bloodlust demanding to be sated while the strategist demanded he not carry through with his threat. His pride however allowed him no escape from this encounter, it'd never before, and he wasn't about to start going soft over a silly little woman. Stuck in his inner battle he was compelled to allow her to reach her fingers up, touch him, and even so far as to pull his hand away from her neck.

"I would however prefer" she began pulling at the fingertips of his glove, tugging it off his hand, "if you'd make it clean…and quick." She pressed his hand over her heart, deep in her cleavage and towards the left side. "My parents would appreciate if they could have a body to bury..." She whispered. He felt her heart racing in her chest and the soft warmth under his palm; she was fearful of him.

The captive pulled the hand away from her chest and brought it to her lips. She kissed the palm softly before pulling his glove back on for him. As she tugged it into place she offered his pride the escape it needed. "I know you'd like to kill me now, but someone has to make your repairs and patch you up." She kept his palm in her hand and started at it fixedly tracing the crease marks in the fabric. Without raising her eyes she whispered, "and when you do, I'll forgive you." He was gone before she looked up.


	2. Chapter 2

Second Helpings

January 5, 2012

**a/n****:** I kind of want to finish out the Sins Challenge, even though its out of season. Plus, I always thought the first part was too short and have wanted to expand on it for awhile. Did I succeed?

His anger simmered to dissatisfaction, and disgust. The bloodlust left a foul taste in his mouth and he was further repulsed by a repugnant desire to sate said 'bloodlust' with something other then murder – torture.

Never before had Vegeta dallied in torture, having too frequently been the recipient himself in the past he found it of no direct use or benefit to him. While he had before reveled in the pain of others, not a novel behavior in the slightest, it wasn't his pursuit to do so through that particular type of torment.

The caged frustration and aggravation boiled in his skull until he ritualistically fell into the rhythmically familiar pattern of training. The ache in his muscles would not drive away the growing appetite that began gnawing on the periphery. It needled and prodded at him, teasing his mind in an attempt to have it wander off the strict path of measured counts dictating his exercise.

To counteract the fire in his arm while undertaking one-handed push-ups, he focused on his hand to avoid giving into the encumberance of artificial gravity. The bulge in the veins on the back of his palm began to throb in time with the pains in his body; logically the next step was to refocus elsewhere, the orange tile of the floor.

Soon the strict internal counting fell away to the pain, leaving his mind to wander to the idea of torture. He thought about how he'd pushed his palm into the Woman's hip and held her against the wall with it and a hand caged around her neck. He could remember the soft thump thump of her rushing blood over her hipbones through his glove long before she'd pressed his hand to her frantic heart.

He licked his lips, he wanted to use the hand on her hip to wrap around the bone and feel the meat there in his hands. There was a desire next to have wrapped the hand she'd pressed to her lips around her mouth before dragging her off to conduct his business in seclusion. His mind's eye saw her whimpering and begging under his shadow, then crying out, panting and finally moaning. Moaning?

With blurry eyes he realized that he'd halted the progression of exercises and had obviously, given the throb in his wrist, been holding that particular position for some time. He stepped down from the handstand and glared towards his feet. A break was in order, his mind couldn't function under this onslaught, nor could his body obviously.

He grunts and hisses his displeasure with his physical self. While off in his reverie his body has rebelled against his mind, and somehow appeared to have subverted gravity. A prominence stood out at the crotch of his black shorts, uncomfortable in the constricting material. He plucks at it to adjust himself, only serving to free his trapped self. The press of gravity is no hinderance, and he thinks again back to the 'torture' he imagines himself inflicting, and the metaphor reveals itself, another roll of repugnance. The wrath he wishes to bring down upon her head rears itself in another rush of images; and his groin tightens again. The bloodlust is a craving deeper then the violent streaks imposed so deeply on the man, it is in the marrow of his bones, the center of his being, and superimposed on his thoughts. He roars his frustration and slaps the consol to shut down the machine.


End file.
